Before The Rush
by Delphina Evans
Summary: The night before Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Hermione and Charlie discuss what might happen between the bookworm and the youngest Weasley boy. [COMPLETE]


**Before The Rush**

**A One-Shot Story by Roxy Black**

**Summary: **The night before Bill and Fleur's wedding, Hermione and Charlie discuss what might happen between the bookworm and the youngest Weasley son.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley.

**PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS _NOT_ AN HERMIONE/CHARLIE SHIPPER FIC!**

It was a quiet and peaceful night, for once, at the Burrow. The day had been filled with finalizing the last minute details of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's wedding, causing even more chaos to exist in the usually busy household. But now, beneath the dark evening sky, the house seemed calm and serene, both inside and out.

All ten current occupants of the house (Percy hadn't bothered to show up for his brother's wedding, the prat) were fast asleep in their beds, free from the worry of the wedding to take place the next day. Well, perhaps Mrs. Weasley's dreams were filled with fixing flowers and whatnot, and surely Bill and Fleur were dreaming about their new lives together, but that was to be expected. The house was silent. Everyone was sound asleep.

Except for Hermione Granger.

Hermione sat up on her little cot in the corner of Ginny's bedroom. The handmade quilt was pulled up over her knees, which she hugged close to her chest. Her bushy brown head was turned to the right, gazing longingly out of the small window. She leaned back against the wall and sighed.

How she longed to just run outside at that very moment, scream out to the black sky, and release every emotion that had been bottled up inside of her head for weeks. She contained sadness at Dumbledore's death, anger at Snape's ruthless murder of him, confusion at Ron and their ever-changing friendship status, and immense worry at Harry, the Horcruxes, and the impending War that was due to take over the land at any moment. Hermione wanted so much just to run across the grass, shouting at the top of her lungs, letting out everything she had kept to herself for what seemed like an eternity.

Of course, Hermione was far too studious and far too cautious to ever do a thing like that, but just _thinking_ about doing a thing like that made her feel a tad bit better. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough.

Hermione diverted her attention from the window and laid eyes on Ginny's form atop the bed on the opposite side of the room. The younger girl was sleeping soundly, her red hair fanned out across the pillow. Hermione scowled for a moment. She had never understood how all Weasleys, both male and female, seemed to fall asleep within seconds of their fiery heads hitting the bed.

Far in the distance, an owl called through the night. Hermione looked out the window just in time to see a light brown speck streak across the black horizon, blotting out the few stars that had dared to show their faces.

Hermione fiddled with her thumbs. There was absolutely no way that she could fall asleep. She just _couldn't_. It seemed totally impossible. She had read _Hogwarts, A History_, flipped through three old editions of _The Daily Prophet_, and scanned a year old _Witch Weekly._ She had even taken one of her old Lockhart books out from her trunk and read the first few pages before becoming rather bored. But still, Hermione could not close her eyes. If she did, even for a few seconds, something would wake her: a creak of a floorboard, the call of an owl. It didn't matter. Everything disturbed her. There were too many thoughts in her head, and that was saying something.

She had to do _something_ to keep her mind distracted. She just couldn't sit there all night, thinking about things that would most likely make her cry herself to sleep. She was sick of crying, sick of tears, sick of sadness. She wouldn't do that to herself any longer. But what else was there to do? Hermione didn't want to rouse Ginny; she would surely pay dearly for it in the morning. She couldn't go and wake Harry and Ron; Lord knows how hard it was to get those two up and about. Hermione sat and thought for a few moments before coming to a decision: she would go into the Weasley kitchen and get a cup of tea.

Over the years, Hermione had fetched many midnight cups of tea from the kitchen. She didn't know why, but the tea the Weasleys kept in their house was so much different from the tea Hermione was used to. The Weasleys' tea seemed so much warmer; so much more soothing than anything else Hermione had ever tried. It had comforted her during many sleepless nights at the Burrow. And now that she could legally use magic, making tea would be a synch.

Hermione slowly straightened her legs and scooted her body to the edge of the cot, keeping her eyes on Ginny. She then lowered her feet to the floor, applied as little pressure as possible with her soles, and gradually stood up. As she made her way nimbly across the room, the floorboards creaked, and Hermione had to stop several times to make sure that Ginny was still asleep. The younger girl turned over once or twice, but was otherwise left undisturbed. Hermione quietly opened the door, stepped out into the dark hallway, and shut the door once more behind her.

Hermione turned to the left and made her way down the hallway, keeping one hand on the wall to guide her. She never knew what she might encounter in the Burrow these days. A stray joke product from Fred and George, an old ghoul…the house was filled to the brim with surprises. But Hermione reached the spiral staircase at the end of the hall with no trouble at all. In fact, the floorboards hadn't even creaked as much as she thought they were going to.

Smiling in a satisfied way towards her, Hermione began to walk quickly down the staircase. Soon, the Weasley kitchen came into view. She imagined a steaming cup of tea in her hands, and the thought warmed her. But just as she looked down to avoid a pile of laundry on the next landing, a deep voice rang out and startled her.

"Hermione?"

Millions of thoughts ran through Hermione's head. Was it a Death Eater, she thought hysterically? No, no, that was pure nonsense. The voice was far too deep to be Harry or Ron's; far too serious to be Fred or George's…perhaps it was Bill? Hermione turned to look over the banister and was mildly surprised at who she saw sitting at the table.

It was Charlie, the second eldest Weasley son. His red hair was tousled, Hermione assumed from sleep. A burn mark on his arm was visible through his white T-shirt, as well as a dragon tattoo on his wrist. He was looking at Hermione was an amused expression. Hermione became suddenly aware that she was only wearing a tank top and a flimsy pair of plaid pants.

"Charlie?" Hermione responded, trying to clear the air of the awkward moment that had just arose. "I thought you were a Death Eater." Hermione entered the kitchen and stood uncomfortably in front of the table.

Charlie let out a hoarse laugh. "Nope, just me. Why are you down here so late?"

"I couldn't sleep." Hermione admitted, suddenly feeling discomfited. She had never really spoken one-on-one with Charlie before. "I just came down for a cup of—"

"Tea? So did I." Charlie gestured to the half-empty mug sitting on the table before him. "Let me get you the tea. I think I may have scared you." He glanced at Hermione's shaking hands, which Hermione hadn't even noticed until now. She laughed quietly and sat down at the table, fiddling with her thumbs again.

Charlie banged around the kitchen for a few moments before turning to the table with a steaming cup of tea. As he set it down before Hermione, the warm aroma settled into her body, and she took a long sip, savoring the taste.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you." Charlie apologized, smiling sheepishly. "I know that I don't know you all too well."

Hermione put down the tea for a moment, shaking her head. "Don't worry about it. I needed a wake-up call anyway." She lied. All she wanted to do was to get the tea into her stomach and go back to trying to get to sleep.

An awkward silence hung between them. Hermione picked up her cup again.

"Excited about the wedding tomorrow?" Charlie asked. It was obvious that he was trying to make Hermione feel more comfortable. It was expected, of course, so Hermione answered the question truthfully.

"Yes, I am. It's going to be splendid, I'm sure." Hermione replied. "But I don't think Ginny fancies the dress she has to wear in the procession. She says that silver really isn't her color." To show her point, Hermione wrinkled her nose. Charlie laughed.

"Ron doesn't quite like the dress robes that Bill's picked out for us. Silver's not really his color, either." Hermione smiled. Her cup of tea was half-empty.

"Speaking of Ron," Charlie began, "what's going on between you two?"

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. Why did everyone always assume that there was something going on between her and Ron? There was, of course, _something_ going on between them, Hermione was sure of it, but was it everyone else's business as well.

"You're about the hundredth person to ask me that this year." Hermione replied. "Especially after…" She faltered, not feeling like explaining the huge separation that she and Ron had experienced during the school year.

"After the big fight?" Charlie inquired. Hermione nodded cautiously. "Yeah, Harry's told me all about that. Said it lasted from October to March, said it ended after Ron landed in the Hospital Wing from that poison."

Hermione remained quiet. She did not like to think that people she barely knew had been told about her personal life, whether or not the person happened to be Ron's older brother. It didn't matter. She felt open, like Charlie was reading her just as if she were a book.

"But you still didn't answer the question, Hermione." Charlie took a quick sip from his own cup. "What's going on between you and Ron?"

Hermione carefully considered her answer as she felt a hot flush creep onto her neck and face. She opened her mouth slowly. "I suppose I do…I mean, I wouldn't mind if…I mean, Ron is very…I shouldn't be telling you this." Hermione ended lamely. She traced the wet edge of her cup with her fingertip.

"I understand." Said Charlie. Hermione kept her head down, never the less.

"I suppose you hear this all the time as well, but it _is_ obvious that Ron fancies you quite a lot." Charlie piped up a minute later. Hermione looked up. People were always saying things like that to her. They weren't true, she knew, of course. Why would Ron fancy a girl like her, a shy Muggleborn bookworm that always thought she was right?

"I do hear it all of the time." Hermione confessed. She was trying to sound as polite as possible. "But even if it were true, I can't focus on that sort of thing now. A war is about to take place. Those things are not important at the moment."

Charlie nodded, beginning to trace the edge of his own cup. "True, true. And I suppose you're worried sick about Harry as well?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, I worry about him all of the time." She spun her cup, twirling the leaves in what remained of her tea.

"Sometimes you just have to take some time out for yourself." Charlie said in a wise voice. It reminded her of Dumbledore, and a pain stabbed at her heart before she brushed it away as quickly as possible.

"But—"

"I know that you care an awful lot for Ron and Harry, and those two are lucky as hell to have a girl like you looking out for them," Charlie said, pushing his teacup to the edge of the table. Hermione blushed. "But I don't think that either of them want to see you worried and overworked. So tomorrow, at the wedding, I want you to have as much fun as possible."

"Is that an order?" Hermione teased, trying to lighten the mood. Charlie smiled.

"Maybe it is. No one deserves to be upset. This wedding will serve as a time of peace before the rush of war, death, and pain." Charlie answered.

Hermione nodded. She had intended to have as good of a time as possible at the wedding and the reception. She needed something to get her mind off of Harry, Ron, and the Horcruxes.

"And about Ron…" A renewed flush appeared upon Hermione's face. "You've only known him for seven years. I've known him for _seventeen_ years and he's always been the same way: stubborn as hell." Said Charlie, smirking.

"Don't I know it!" Hermione retorted. The two shared a laugh.

"So be patient with him, and when the time comes for him to finally admit to you how he feels, just promise me that you won't go running off in the opposite direction." Charlie said in a serious tone.

"I promise." Replied Hermione quietly.

Hermione finished her tea. She and Charlie sat in silence for a several minutes before Hermione informed him that she was very tired.

"It's been nice talking to you, Hermione." Charlie said it reply.

Hermione offered him a small smile before turning towards the staircase and heading into the hallway.

When she had finally entered Ginny's room and was settled into bed, she looked out the window one last time. The rising sun was now visible over the horizon.

Hermione carefully contemplated Charlie's words for a few moments before laying her head against the pillow and pulling the quilt up to her chin, visions of wedding cake and flower bouquets dancing behind her eyes.

* * *

**A Note From Roxy:**

**Hello! I hope everyone enjoyed this little story. I tried to keep the Hermione/Charlie action to a minimum, but at the same time, show that a friendship was blooming between them. I hope everyone liked reading this story!**

**This is just a little one-shot that I was working on during a writer's block session while I was trying to write the next chapter of "His Most Loyal and Deadly."**

**Please review, even if you just glanced at it. Please?**

**Love forever and always,**

**Roxy Black**


End file.
